


Echoes

by wingthing



Series: The EQ Alternaverse [20]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: EQ Alternaverse, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:12:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4695074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingthing/pseuds/wingthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Wild Hunt encounters a pool of magic left behind from the Firstcomers' crash, something powerful takes control of Weatherbird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes

She could hear the pool calling to her, singing in a voice no one else could hear.   
She could see the slick blackness lying among the rocks. She leapt from wolfback and climbed over the moss-laden boulders, seeking out the cool scent of ancient magic. She peered into the shadows between two rocks, and saw with her mind’s eye the oily residue the Firstcomers had left. 

She reached down to touch it. 

She felt it shiver under her fingertips. She heard it speak its name. 

Chesral... 

Cheipar seized her shoulders and pulled her away from the hollow in the rocks. Weatherbird blinked. She glanced up at her lovemate in confusion. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

Now Ember had joined them. “Curse it, Weatherbird. You fly off almost as much as Tyldak. Well, what did you stop our ride-out for this time?” 

She touched her forehead. “Oh...” 

“What is it?” Ember knelt down by the rocks. “Another pool of magic?” 

Weatherbird got to her feet. “Yes...” 

Ember scowled. “I don’t like it. That’s the fifth you’ve found this last moon. We’ve been lucky so far... but I don’t want some sort of Madcoil-thing coming up out of the ground. All right, let’s get back to camp.” 

Weatherbird leaned against Cheipar’s shoulder as he helped her down the rocks to where his two huge wolf-friends waited. “I’m fine,” she murmured. “Really.” 

* * * 

The Wild Hunt had left Howling Rock two moons ago, travelling southeast towards the Coastland forests. But what had begun as a journey to warmer climates had became a hunt. 

Weatherbird had found the first little puddle of old magic in the summer, during a ride-out in search of cuphorns. They counted it a single anomaly, until she found another one. And another. Each time Weatherbird touched it, and channeled the energy away harmlessly. But Ember’s hackles were up. The daughter of Wing and Behtia had no special magic, and no great trust for things she could not hold in her hand. 

“What’s causing all these pockets of magic?” Dewshine had asked one night as they shared their communal meal. In explanation, Weatherbird had drawn a crude map of the New Land, showing the coastline, Thorny Mountain, and Howling Rock. 

“When the Palace first appeared it was here, at Thorny Mountain.” She pointed to a spot on the map. “Ages in the future... as far in the future as their crash is in the past. But when the High Ones lost control, the Palace... it fell from the sky – fell through space, feel through time..” She took her drawing stick and drew wild loops over the map. “Spinning, spinning, around and around the earth, as it fell backwards in time. And it left... footprints of magic behind, tracing its path.” 

Dewshine had frowned. So did many of the others. 

“Right,” Weatherbird had continued, oblivious to their confusion. “And all these little spatters of magic were left to turn bad. They’re so small I can’t sense them until I’m almost on top of them. But not so small they can’t cause trouble.” 

“Madcoil,” Dewshine breathed. 

Ember scowled. “And that’s what we have to prevent. If some poor animals falls into one of those pools – or some passing human pokes at it...” 

“That’s why I’ve got to find them all,” Weatherbird said. 

“We should use the Palace then, shouldn’t we?” Kirjan asked. 

“We can’t tie up the Palace for this. I can find them myself.” 

No one had questioned her then. They all knew what powers she possessed. 

Now they all assembled at their travelling camp to celebrate Weatherbird’s banishment of the seventh magic pool since their quest began. Teir, Kirjan, Halcyon and the wolves had brought down a large cuphorn, and while the wolves feasted on the raw viscera, the elves roasted great slabs over the campfire. 

The Wild Hunt’s numbers were always in flux, but this season the tribe numbered ten. Teir, Ember, Kirjan and Halcyon formed the core of the tribe as always. Cheipar, Sust, Dewshine and Coppersky filled out the ranks of the hunters. Tyldak and Weatherbird served as scouts. It was a good number and the last few years and been ones of plenty. Their one Preserver, Bumbleclaw, was already ready to wrapstuff excess food. 

Sust helped himself to the roasted meat with gusto, smacking his lips loudly with each bite. As his enormous pile of roasted cuphorn waned, he reached over slyly to steal a piece from his lovemate’s pile. 

“Nnh!” Coppersky slapped Sust’s hand back. “Glutton!” 

“Come on, you really gonna eat all that?” 

“I certainly am! And I’m not about to start stuffing my face just to save my food from your jaws.” 

“Weatherbird?” Dewshine asked, for Weatherbird had scarcely touched her portion. 

“Not very hungry,” Weatherbird shrugged. “Just.... thinking about the pool. It was different from the others.” 

“How so?” Tyldak asked. 

“It had a name. Chesral.” 

“Chesral?” Ember leaned forward. “Who is Chesral?” 

“A Firstcomer,” Weatherbird shrugged sadly. “A Firstcomer who screamed. And... his cry went into the rocks. It... feels like his fears... his memories fell into the pool even as his magic created it. The pool echoed it back to me.” She shook her head. “It feels as if I touched Chesral’s spirit myself.” 

Cheipar rubbed her back gently. “You should be more careful,” he said deliberately. 

She shot him a vaguely irritated glance. Cheipar never spoke without considering his words carefully. He was making certain the entire Wild Hunt knew he disapproved of his lovemate’s recklessness. 

**Subtle,** she sent. 

He gave her a gentle smile as if to say, “I can never fool you.” 

Dewshine nodded gravely. “I remember when your father first heard the Cry. He was not quite nine years old, poor thing, and he felt all the fear and desperate confusion of those Firstcomers. He only carried the Cry inside him for three days, yet it left a mark on him that took months to heal.” 

Weatherbird shivered, and she rubbed her arms briskly. “Peace... contentment, even excitement.... And then pain, confusion. And then... such fear! Terror and grief and pain burning red hot!” 

Cheipar continued to rub her back. **Let it go,** he urged silently. 

Weatherbird closed her eyes and tipped her head back. She willed the sensations to flow up out of her mind and dispel in the air. “I’m all right,” she murmured. “I’ll... I’ll be all right.” She reached for a piece of meat, but she bit into it half-heartedly. “Nnh, tough,” she complained. 

“Tastes pretty tender to me,” Sust spoke around a mouthful of roast. 

“Everything tastes fine to you,” Weatherbird grumbled. Sust looked at Coppersky in confusion, and the Sun Folk hunter gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs. 

Halcyon stretched out, cat-like, on her stomach. She fluffed her long chestnut hair over her back, and Kirjan could not resist twining a stray lock around his finger. “So, where do we go from here?” the chief’s daughter asked. 

“We’ll stay here for a few days,” Ember decided. “What do you think, Teir?” 

“Sounds good.” A little wolf pup stumbled into Teir’s lap, and he gladly fed it the last bite of his roast. “The wolves are all tired. So are the cats, for that matter.” He gave a gracious nod towards the pride of five tuftcats that reclined in the long grass nearby. Sust had been training tuftcats for riding since he was an eight-year-old cub. Now, nearly two hundred years later, he had overseen thirteen generations of tuftcat breeding. Old Stubtail was long gone, and Sust now wore his pelt as a cloak in memory of the cat. Stubtail’s descendants were sleeker, more trusting around elves, but just as deadly in the hunt as their wild ancestors. 

“So we’ll rest here for a five days,” Ember said at length. “And then continue south. We’ll be in the Coastland forest before you know it.” 

* * * 

Cheipar crawled into the little wigwam to join his lovemate. The little shelter was just tall enough to sit up in and just wide enough to stretch out comfortably. Weatherbird had already shed her soft grey leathers and crawled under the sleeping furs. Her back was to the door, and for a moment Cheipar paused to contemplate the naked brown skin of her shoulderblades. At length he sat down next to her. 

Weatherbird rolled over to face him. “Sorry I was such a pain at the fire. I... I’m a little out of my head.” 

Cheipar held up a cold piece of roast. Weatherbird shook her head. “I’m still not hungry. Maybe later. Wrap it up tight.” 

Cheipar obligingly tucked the meat away in his leather pouch, then shucked his clothes and slipped under the furs. “You’re cold,” he murmured against her skin as he caught her up in his arms. 

“I don’t feel cold,” she whispered back. “Feel... almost numb.” 

Cheipar nuzzled the nape of her neck, and Weatherbird smiled softly. It seemed her lovemate had already found a remedy for her nerves. 

* * * 

The members of the Wild Hunt slowly took to their own collapsable wigwams as the night wore on. But Coppersky lingered on the rocks around the burned-out embers of the campfire, his expression deeply contemplative. 

Sust sat down on the rock behind him. “Fawn-eye highthing grumble-grumble much,” he teased. 

“Not grumbling, just thinking.” 

“’Bout what?” 

“Weatherbird... and Chesral. She said... it’s like she locksent with the Firstcomer himself. I didn’t like the sound of that. I didn’t like seeing how it... unsettled her. When was the last time anyone ever saw Weatherbird unsettled?” 

“Not in a while,” Sust admitted. 

“Not in the last century, more like it. Glad I’m not a magic-user.” 

Sust gave Coppersky’s braided auburn hair a playful tug. But Coppersky continued to brood. “I don’t like it. The more I think on it... it just gives me shudders. To suddenly be overwhelmed by... fear and terror that’s festered in the rocks for... for a mountain’s age. Knots my stomach thinking about it.” 

“Mm, well, I think I know how to cheer you up, kitten,” Sust nibbled at his ear. 

“I don’t think I’m in the mood.” 

“Oh,” Sust’s face fell in abject disappointment. “Oh... well.” 

Coppersky sighed. “I said, I don’t think I’m in the mood!” he repeated, elbowing Sust in the ribs. 

“Oh!” Sust’s eyes lit up. He reached around, seized Coppersky’s braid, then wrapped the tail of hair around the elf’s throat menacingly. “Well, I am,” he growled low, and Coppersky meekly let himself fall back against Sust’s chest, his cat’s smile barely visible in the faint light. 

* * * 

The tribe rose just before dawn for a morning hunt, but Weatherbird lingered in bed. “I feel... weak,” she confessed to Cheipar, who merely kissed her farewell and told her to get some more sleep. When she awoke again it was nearly noon. She staggered out of the wigwam, groggy with sleep, and found the camp all but deserted. Only Tyldak and Halcyon lingered behind. Halcyon was bending over a little cooking pot made of treated bark. 

“You didn’t go with the Hunt?” Weatherbird asked. 

Halcyon smiled. “Oh, we have more than enough hunters out there. Besides, I thought I’d stay behind and make you a little treat.” She blew over the cooking soup. “Ringneck, with a little tang-seed and some yellowherb. When I was a cub, Father used to make this for me practically every day during the white-cold. It’ll warm up your blood.” 

“How are you today?” Tyldak asked. 

“I’ve been better. Bad dreams. Thrashed all night long. I must have beat poor Cheipar black and blue.” 

“He had a point last night,” Tyldak said. He sat down cross-legged across from Weatherbird and wrapped his wings halfway around his body, his cautiously guarded body posture. “Your powers are not something to be taken lightly.” 

Weatherbird smiled wanly. “This isn’t Blue Mountain, Tyldak,” she said simply. 

“Maybe not... but if you knew what creatures were born of decaying magic...” 

“I do know. I’ve seen them.” 

“Standing and watching the Scroll turn is not the same, I fear.” 

She shook her head. “I’ve listened too. They tell me things, you know. In the Palace. They’ve told me all about the old days.” 

Tyldak knew better than to ask who “they” were. But he could not resist. “And Winnowill? Do you talk to her too?” 

Weatherbird shrugged. “Sometimes. Not very much. She’s very tired. She never slept, you know, in the old days. She needs a lot of sleep now.” 

Tyldak shuddered to hear her speak so nonchalantly of the Black Snake. Weatherbird took another sip of soup Then she set the bark cup down, her eyes distant. “Chesral... he was looking forward to eating again. You know... when you first come out of a wrapstuff cocoon, you’re starving! He hadn’t eaten in centuries... maybe more. He couldn’t wait to indulge his senses again... living senses are so different from dream senses. But he didn’t expect pain. His body breaking... shattering. Such pain. Such... rage. The rage born of dreams denied – desires twisted.” She shuddered. “He wanted sensation. He got more than he wanted.” Then a cruel expression twisted her face. “That was his last thought. He got so much more than he wanted!” She laughed. 

“Weatherbird.” 

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head. A blush warmed her cheeks. “I guess I didn’t get all of that muck out of me. I think... I think I’ll go meditate.” She took a final sip of the soup. “Mm, it’s too sharp. Less spices next time.” 

She got up and left. Frowning, Halcyon passed a cup to Tyldak and offered it to him. He sipped it. “Tastes... good. A little bland, actually. But that’s just me.” 

* * * 

The hunters returned from their outing, wolves and cats glutted on meat, Wolfriders bearing several small prickle-hides. Weatherbird gave Cheipar a warm hug in greeting, then eyed the prickle-hides hungrily. 

“The flocks of plainsgeese are flying for the coast at a decent clip,” Kirjan said at supper that evening. “They must know something we don’t.” 

“Winter’s in the air lately,” Teir murmured. “I think the monsoons will be hitting the southern coast early this year.” 

“Mm, they’ll love that at the Great Holt,” Halcyon chuckled. 

“Wavecatcher will like it,” Dewshine pointed out. “And Savin. And Zhantee.” 

“Bet you Shale and Eyes High will try their little canoe out again.” 

“If Cricket doesn’t sink it again. Remember that year we all wintered down there...” 

“Hah, and Eyes High’s spyglass sank to the bottom of the river. Oh, poor thing. She looked like a drowned rat by the time they fished her out.” 

“Did she ever find the spyglass?” 

“Yep. At least the glass part. The wood was all rotted and nibbled away before the water pulled back.” 

“Hah – I thought she was going to kill him!” 

“They’re becoming more like Islanders every season at the Great Holt.” 

“Now you’re sounding like Strongbow...” 

As the Hunt continued to swap stories of their kin, Cheipar noticed Weatherbird was only picking at her meat. She was humming softly to herself as she turned the piece of roast over in her hands, nibbling at the edges. At length she laughed under her breath. 

Cheipar gave her a little nudge, inviting her to share the joke. But Weatherbird ignored him. Now her laughter had passed, and she was humming again, not her usual nonsense of notes sounding like random birdsong, but a haunting melody, light and ethereal. 

He gave her another little nudge. She turned and blinked. “Hmm? Did you say something?” 

Cheipar looked at her askance. Weatherbird giggled. “Of course not, where’s my head?” 

**Pretty song,** Cheipar sent as he slipped his arms about her waist. 

“Hmm. A High One sang it to me once... can’t remember when.” 

**Chesral?** 

“I don’t think so...” she frowned. “He wasn’t the singing type.” 

* * * 

The feast went on until midnight, as it did every night. But Weatherbird only picked at her food even as more hungry elves raided the wrapstuff supplies for more. 

“You look tired,” Cheipar whispered in her ear as they retired to their wigwam. 

“I feel tired,” Weatherbird agreed. “Don’t know why.” 

Cheipar delicately unfastened the little leather ornaments behind her ears that held up a string of quail feathers. Weatherbird shivered at his touch. “Your fingers are cold,” she said. Cheipar obligingly blew on his hands to warm them, then fingercombed her short hair. Weatherbird leaned against his chest dreamily. 

“I think this magic-hunting is taking something out of me,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t mind going home for the wet season... spend a nice sleepy winter in the rainforest. What do you think?” 

Cheipar shrugged agreeably. 

“I’d like to spend some more time with my father... and the Palace. I miss the Scroll of Colors.” 

Cheipar stiffened imperceptibly. But Weatherbird sat up, her eyes narrowed. 

“What? What is it?” 

In response, Cheipar simply took her hands in his. He smiled gently. Weatherbird blinked in confusion. In response Cheipar kissed the back of her hand, then gathered her up in his arms. Weatherbird tried to wriggle away, and Cheipar stilled her with a kiss to the pointed tip of her ear. 

“I can’t figure you out sometimes,” Weatherbird muttered, pulling away from him abruptly. 

Now Cheipar blinked in confusion. Weatherbird saw the hurt in his eyes and her angry expression melted away. “Sorry, Cheipar. Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She tried to rise, and bumped her head on the ceiling of the wigwam. “Ow! Why is this thing so tiny? Aren’t you dying in here? It’s so close! There’s no air in here!” 

Cheipar touched her shoulder, and she pulled away again. “Don’t touch me.” She rubbed her biceps briskly, then proceeded to scratch her shoulders and neck. “I’ve... I’m shivering. I’ve got... bugs under my skin. Crawling under my skin. Cheipar... Cheipar, I’m afraid. Something’s wrong – wrong!” 

Cheipar held out his arms to her silently. 

“Is that all you can do?” Weatherbird snapped at him, and her voice was not her own. It was different, hoarser, with an angry rasp. “Sit there, wide-eyed, grinning like a fool or simpering like a... like some lovesick little burrower! Can’t you ever say anything beyond two words at a time? How am I supposed to know what you want out of me?” 

Cheipar drew back. Suspicion clouded his eyes now. 

“Oh, Cheipar, help me!” Weatherbird cried out. She collapsed into his arms and wept. Cheipar held her tight as she sobbed loudly. At length her cries ebbed. Cheipar felt her muscles relax, almost too quickly. She sagged against his shoulder, and Cheipar slowly eased his grip on her. 

Weatherbird sat back. “Oh, I’m sorry. But it’s over now.” 

Cheipar looked at her carefully. Weatherbird smiled wearily. “The magic pool... Chesral left a little something in my blood. Something... of him. But it’s over now. He’s gone.” 

Cheipar licked his lips carefully. “He was never there. Only an echo.” 

Weatherbird blinked. “Yes... yes of course. That’s what I meant. Don’t worry, Cheipar. It’s behind us now. Let’s... let’s just go to sleep, all right? And then tomorrow we can call the Palace. I’ll see my father, and we’ll sort out the rest of this, all right?” 

**There’s more, beloved?** 

Weatherbird shook her head, a little nervously. “Nn, sorry. My head’s still buzzing. Better not send to me anymore tonight, I might not be able to hear you too well. So we’ll go see my father tomorrow and he can help me... even things out.” 

Cheipar smiled and nodded. He held out his hand to Weatherbird, and she took it. They lay down in bed together, but Weatherbird swiftly wrapped a fur around her, erecting a barrier between them. 

“You’re sure?” he asked one last time. 

“Fine.” 

“And you’ll call Sunstream tomorrow?” 

“Mmhm... actually, why don’t you? I bet that would surprise him, wouldn’t it?” 

Cheipar closed his eyes and listened to Weatherbird’s breathing even out in the gentle rhythms of sleep. 

Only when he was certain she was fast asleep did he get up, snatch up his leathers, and sneak out of the wigwam. 

* * * 

“What do you mean it’s not Weatherbird?” 

Teir gallantly held up the fur as a screen while Ember scrambled into her leather jacket and trousers. Cheipar continued to crouch in the opening of the wigwam. A dark scowl overtook his face. 

“It’s. Not. Weatherbird.” 

“Granted, it does sound like she’s a little... overwrought,” Teir offered. 

**It’s not her!** Cheipar sent angrily, a roar in both their minds. 

“Look, everything you told me says she’s very confused and troubled by what happened with that pool,” Ember shrugged on her jacket and buttoned up the elk-tooth toggles. “And yes, it doesn’t sound like her at all. But just because she’s acting very strangely doesn’t mean she’s possessed! Come on, Cheipar. Now you have to give me a better reason than she snapped at you.” 

“It doesn’t talk like Weatherbird!” 

“And what is ‘talk like Weatherbird’ to begin with?” 

Cheipar levelled his gaze at her. “She said she didn’t understand me.” 

Ember blinked. Teir’s brow knit with worry. 

“Welll...” Ember bit her lip. But she was at a loss. “Well... what are we supposed to do?” 

“Wrapstuff,” Cheipar said. “Sunstream can force it out, later.” 

“So we should call the Palace,” Ember said. 

“Not with it loose!” Cheipar snapped, and Ember flinched at the sharpness in his seldom-heard voice. 

“Right,” Teir nodded. “Wrapstuff can hold a spirit fast. Hold it inside Weatherbird until it can be removed.” 

“But this isn’t a spirit!” Ember said. “Weatherbird said the magic she touched was only an echo of the real Chesral.” 

“A mirror image that thinks it’s real,” Teir mused. “All the more reason to be careful.” 

“If you’re wrong,” Ember shook her head. “Weatherbird is going to kill you.” 

Cheipar gave a dismissive roll of the shoulders. He would deal with that if it came to it. Ember nodded at length. In the end, it was a small price to pay if they were wrong. But if Cheipar was right, there was no time to spare. 

He led the two elves and the one Preserver close to his wigwam. Bumbleclaw perched on his shoulder silently, waiting to strike. 

Cheipar pulled back the elk-hide curtain that covered the door. But Weatherbird was gone. 

* * * 

A snarl from one of the tuftcats shook Sust from his sleep. He ignored the first cry, and snuggled back down next to his lovemate. The cats and wolves had probably had another argument. They would work it out, as they always did. 

He paid no mind to the secong snarl, but when another tuftcat screamed a warning cry the Go-Back shot out of bed. He yanked back the door-curtain and caught sight of a dark figure facing down two snarling tuftcats. The entire pride was awake and unnerved, and though they did not strike the elf who waved a dagger menacingly, they growled and shrieked a message to withdraw. 

The moons had set, but in the bright starlight, Sust had no trouble recognizing the dark skin and silver hair. 

“Weatherbird?” he called. 

Weatherbird turned, saw him, and took off in a run. The cats continued to prowl defensively, their half-barking snarls a warning to keep running. 

**Ember?** Sust sent. 

He expected to hear a sleepy reply, faded through the veil of dreams. But the answering voice was sharp. **What is it?** 

**Weatherbird – she was driving the cats half-mad... like they didn’t like her scent. And then she took off when she saw me.** 

**Well, that settles it. Get dressed. We’re sounding the alarm.** 

**Over Weatherbird?** 

**That’s not Weatherbird.** 

* * * 

Whatever was possessing the daughter of Sunstream did not know how to move silently over ground, and they found a clear trail of heavily-trodden grass and snapped twigs. The Wolfriders stalked her on foot though the long grass and into the scrubland that covered the gentle hills. It seemed Weatherbird was on course to return to the magic pool, or whatever remained of it. 

“Tyldak!” Ember ordered. “Fly ahead. Cut her off!” 

Tyldak outpaced the Wolfriders with several beats of his wings, and soon he sent back to the pack. **Got her. She’s turning south now, away from the rocks. She’s heading into the forestlands. Ember – she’s armed. She has a bow and arrows. And her dagger.** 

**Don’t try to take her, Tyldak. We don’t risk hurting her – or ourselves. Stay out of range of those arrows.** 

**She’s not wasting them on me. She’s running scared. Running poorly – like a lame creature.** 

**We’re coming, Tyldak.** 

They hurried up the hillside towards the patch of forest that bloomed on the southern slope of the ridgeline. Soon Tyldak reported that he had lost sight of her in the trees. The woods were mostly birch, and the trees very dense. He could not descend without risking a shot from the creature that now possessed Weatherbird. 

He dropped to the ground to join the others as they entered the woods. The ground was carpetted in short grasses, and the birch branches cut out the faint starlight. Dewshine and Ember, possessing the keenest night-vision, led the way through the tightly packed trees. 

They found Weatherbird in a small clearing, collapsed on a little rise of earth. She saw them and she scrambled to her feet, drawing her bow. 

“Stay back!” she hissed, and her voice was not her own. It was lower, infused with a serpentine rasp. 

“Hum-hum highthing no make tumble-rumble!” Bumbleclaw flew towards her, but Weatherbird aimed an arrow at the Wolfriders. 

“Stay back or one of them dies!” 

“Bumbleclaw, get back here,” Ember commanded. When the Preserver had retreated, Ember said calmly, “Weatherbird? Is this Weatherbird who speaks?” 

“She is useless! And I have silenced her prattling!” 

Cheipar rushed forward, murder on his face, but Sust and Coppersky caught him before he could charge the twenty paces to Weatherbird’s position. 

“Who speaks, then?” Ember asked. “Is it Chesral, Firstcomer?” 

Weatherbird’s lip curled back in a snarl. “Stay back! Beasts! Animals!” 

Ember drew herself tall. “I am Ember, daughter of Wing and Behtia–” 

“‘Leader of the Wild Hunt,’” Weatherbird – or whatever possessed her – parrotted. “I know who you are. Huntress Ember. Teir. Dewshine. Tyldak. Halcyon. Kirjan.” She named them all in turn. “Coppersky. Sust. Cheipar.” 

A glimmer of hope appeared in Cheipar’s eyes as her gaze lingered on him. “Beasts!” she snapped. “Is this what we came to find?” 

“Listen to me,” Ember said. “It has been a mountain’s age since the Palace crashed here –“ 

“I know! I’ve been entombed for a mountain’s age – my soul thrown from the castle-ship, trapped in the rocks all this time! Trapped without form, without senses, aware only of my loss! Until this... this creature freed me.” She held the bow high, keeping it trained on the Wolfriders. “I know everything she knows. And I know the living-ship survived, and that you can call for it any moment you wish. You will call it for me now, so I may rejoin my brethren.” 

“Call it yourself,” Ember said. “Tell the Master of the Palace what you told us. He’ll rush here to save his daughter. Or can’t you send? Is that it?” 

“No tricks! No delays!” 

“If you know everything Weatherbird knows, then you know that you are not the real Chesral,” Ember shouted across the clearing. “Chesral died in the crash and his spirit never left the Palace, for our kind are bound to the Palace. You’re nothing but a reflection, a pool of magic echoing Chesral’s memories. That’s why you can’t send. Because you cannot overtake Weatherbird’s soul... and because you have no true soul of your own.” 

“Fool! You believed the girl’s rambles? Do you think this pitiful vessel understood what she had touched?” 

“I think Weatherbird understands a lot more than you might think.” 

“I tell you I am Chesral! Now you will call the Palace here, or I will shoot. I promise you, one of you will die. And if you seek to overpower me, I shall turn this weapon on the vessel I inhabit and destroy it.” 

Cheipar drew in a sharp breath. But Ember was not moved. 

“Then do it. I’m surprised you haven’t already. I’ve heard a body is nothing but a cage to one who had lived in spirit. You call us beasts – you’ve no wish to live as a beast. So kill her body and free yourself. But you won’t, will you? Because deep down you fear Weatherbird’s right – that you’re nothing but a reflection. And without her body to hold you in, you will simply vanish.” 

“Don’t taunt me!” Weatherbird drew the bowstring back. She aimed at Cheipar. 

“All right!” Ember shouted. “We’ll call the Palace!” 

Cheipar stared at her in horror. 

“But we must all call together. We must locksend to the Master of the Palace.” 

Weatherbird’s arm trembled. “No tricks, beasts. I will not be bested by a pack of animals.” 

“No tricks,” Ember said. She beckoned the Wolfriders to gather together. Weatherbird kept the arrow squarely aimed at Cheipar. 

**Locksend, all of you,** she commanded. 

**You can’t call the Palace!** Tyldak warned. **If that malignant mirror image meets the real Chesral... who knows how it might poison the Palace?** 

**I have no intention of calling Sunstream,** Ember sent. **But the lie bought us a few moments. Quick. How can we get those weapons from her without hurting her?** 

**A good throw of a dagger could knock the bow clear,** Coppersky sent. **But I’d have to get into a better position.** 

**Someone needs to get behind her,** Teir sent. 

Cheipar glanced up at the trees. **Give me ten beats.** 

**If she were to fire one arrow... the time it would take her to draw a new one...** Sust mused. 

**She’s faster than that,** Halcyon sent. 

**But maybe Chesral isn’t. He certainly can’t cover his tracks like our Weatherbird.** 

**We need a diversion,**Ember decided. 

**The Preserver,** Dewshine sent. 

“What’s taking so long?” the creature inside Weatherbird demanded. 

Ember turned back. “It takes time for Sunstream to fly the Palace here. Be patient.” 

“I have spent my patience!” 

“Bumbleclaw! Get the dagger!” Ember shouted. 

Bumbleclaw flew forward. At the same time, Dewshine darted for Weatherbird. Weatherbird took aim at the huntress and fired. But Dewshine rolled away and dodged the arrow. The Wolfriders scattered behind the trees. Weatherbird reached for her dagger, but the Preserver had already spit a mess of wrapstuff over the hilt, sticking dagger and sheath together. Panicking, Weatherbird drew another arrow and nocked it. She scanned the dark woods frantically for signs of life. She caught sight of Tyldak’s great wings and fired. A muffled cry and Tyldak fell. Weatherbird nocked a new arrow. 

“Come out! Now! Or I swear the next body I see will fall!” 

Seconds passed. The hidden Wolfriders did not move. Weatherbird glanced down nervously at her gummed-up dagger sheath. At that moment Cheipar dropped from the trees. As she twisted around, a precision throw of Coppersky’s dagger knocked the bow from her hands, leaving her with a broken arrow in her hand. 

Cheipar tore the quiver from her shoulder. Weatherbird staggered back, holding her lone arrow threateningly. “I swear, I will kill you!” the creature raged. 

“Weatherbird...” he whispered, holding his arms out. 

“She’s gone!” Chesral snarled. 

“Weatherbird, come back...” he urged. 

“Stay back!” she raised the arrow. 

“I can see you in there. Come out. Come back to me.” 

“Stay back!” 

He took a step towards her, encircling her in his arms. Weatherbird brought down the arrowhead and buried it in his exposed collarbone. 

Cheipar did not flinch, did not shift his gaze from her eyes. 

Something seemed to flicker in her eyes, a glimmer of life behind the mask of anger. 

A name appeared in Cheipar’s consciousness. 

Sen... 

**Sen,** he sent. 

“Wha...?” Weatherbird whispered. She braced her hands against his chest, and his blood ran over them. She shivered at the wet heat. 

**Sen, come back! You’re not Chesral. You are Sen. Sen. Sen!** 

Weatherbird trembled. She shook her head, but her eyes never left his. A light seemed to flash in her eyes, her spirit fighting to re-emerge. 

“Noo....” the creature inside her begged. 

He took her face in his hands and drew her against his chest. **Sen. Sen, my Sen...** 

Her breath came in gasps. At length her lips moved. “Ash...?” 

Cheipar wept with relief. Dizzied with blood loss, he slumped to the ground, drawing Weatherbird down with him. They knelt on the ground together, touching foreheads, quietly weeping. At length Weatherbird’s strength failed her, and she went limp in Cheipar’s arms. 

Finally Ember approached them. “Cheipar?” she asked. 

Cheipar looked up, summoned a weak smile, and nodded. 

Ember sighed. “It’s over!” she called to her concealed tribemates. “Let’s get them back to camp.” 

* * * 

It was just dawn as Halcyon finished sewing Cheipar’s wound closed with boiled sinew. She washed away the last of the blood with herb-infused water, then bound it with a clean bandage. “That should hold it. Still feeling dizzy? I’ll make you something to help replenish the blood you lost. You might not be holding a bow for a moon-dance, but I think you’d earned yourself a rest from hunting, hmm?” 

Weatherbird sat in Cheipar’s lap, her fingertips searching his face anxiously. “You need a real healer!” 

He shook his head gently. 

“How are you going to hunt now?” 

He shrugged. 

“It will leave a scar!” 

“Then I’ll keep it.” He took her hand and placed it over the wound. “To remember the moment you came back to me.” 

**Ash...** 

“Shh,” he kissed her temple. **Sen,** he sent simply. 

She looked up. **It wasn’t true Recognition.** 

He nodded. No, it was the strange not-quite Recognition that sometimes befell the descendents of Swift and Skywise. “Couldn’t survive a cub of yours anyway,” he whispered in her ear, sending Weatherbird into a fit of laughter. 

Tyldak walked over to the two. Weatherbird looked up and her eyes were drawn to the hole in Tyldak’s right wing, carefully stitched together with sinew. 

“Oh, Tyldak, I’m so sorry.” 

He shook his head. “You didn’t do this. Just tell me that... echo that called itself Chesral is gone.” 

Weatherbird nodded. “When I drained the magic pool the consciousness fled into my mind to stay alive. It overtook me so gradually I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. But Cheipar brought me back, and I pushed that... thing out of me. Without a vessel to house it, it simply flew apart.” 

Cheipar hugged her close. Tyldak breathed a sigh of relief. At length he returned to Dewshine’s side, leaving the two new lifemates alone once more. 

Cheipar continued to hold Weatherbird tight. She snuggled against him gratefully, taking care not to touch his arrow-wound. A single sending star encompassed them both as they exchanged soulnames once more, cementing the bond. They had been exclusive lovemates for over two centuries, yet they had always held back their soulnames, hoping for a moment like this. 

“Sen... Sen...” Cheipar whispered in her ear, an almost reckless spending of words usually so carefully guarded. 

**Ash?** Weatherbird turned her head to face him 

“Mmm?” he stroked her short hair back from her face. 

“What is there to eat? I’m starving!” 

Cheipar laughed, an event so rare it drew gazes from entire scattered tribe and the wolfpack itself.


End file.
